A Poison Tree 1
by thenightspirit
Summary: Jack Morrison revisits his former friendship with Gabriel Reyes. It's a sentimental short story about a bitter Jack Morrison who lost one of the closest friends he ever had. I tried to explore their relationship and put things together; there are headcanons, rated T for swearing. More to come.


"I like thinking about _the good old days;_ because it gives you a little bit of hope in darker ones. In times, when you're looking for something that chases away all the darkness. A matter that sucks you into some sort of depression; knowing nothing will be as good as it used to be. Then you sit there, alone, because all your friends passed long ago; and you stare at the screen of your television wondering why the fuck you're still here when they aren't. As if karma is something real, and karma comes back at you for that one lie you told when you were younger.

Laughter from long gone days haunt you when you're walking through empty allies. You turn around, hoping for someone you knew once showing up. A pat on your shoulder, a well-meant _how are you_ ; a smile that makes everything a little less painful. Yet, everything is empty, dark, and black. The only thing that lights up the night are white streetlights. Cold wind scratches your neck and you pull the collar tighter around your skin. You smile though, because there is this song popping up in your head. A song that you liked back then, a song you sang with others. The lights turn golden and the graffiti on the walls disappear. Just like the depression you're suffering, the song just sticks with you - no matter where you're going.

Someday then, you just get up and you tell the world to fuck off, because it has betrayed you so much. Then I hate thinking about the good old days, punch a hole into a wall, and go on in a daily strife against the darkness in alleys. I see all these faces passing by; young and old. What baffles me the most are the sad faces of kids just being here for whatever reason. What do they feel when they look at these many, old posters hanging here and there? I catch myself looking at the people we once were, pasted on concrete, and I think the same things. Where are they now? Where are we now? What have we done to this world to become nothing but a legend from the past? I hear them say: _Morrison was my favorite hero back then. Huh, he was a good guy._ I hide a smile. They stroll ahead, and I watch them disappear into one of the many alleys. There they go, and they take all the opportunities and hope with them.

Whatever happened to this world and to us, I wished it never happened. I wish that I would have chosen different words, said less, acted more.

Yeah, fuck you."

When there's someone you know well, you know everything about them. The way they move, what they do when an emotion hits them, their talks, their favorite things. You start documenting them subconsciously; waiting for them, harvesting them and laughing about it. _Wait for it._ A huff. A groan. An askew brow above a judgmental eye. One could tell many things about him by just watching him. And most of those things weren't so accurate. Just like the song you like: you listened to it a lot and it has a special meaning to you; the lyrics make total sense and you understand them, you've got your own interpretation of it. Then someone else comes around and they talk about it. _This is not right!_ You're screaming inside your head, and you want to slap them for their idea of what this song is about. You're rolling your eyes and just wave them off. Maybe call them philistine, and then you turn on the song and close your eyes. Sighing. Everyone got it wrong.

He entered the room and, while he didn't say anything, everyone turned their heads around. Not that he was especially tall or broad; he just pulled all attention toward him. The advent of a polite smile made the left corner of his mouth twitch. It disappeared right way, and his eyes captured the last bit of this smile; releasing it in a little light there somewhere in their corners.

Jack always envied him in secret for the power he had over people. Not in a bad way; just in a way that makes them all listen to him automatically. He felt like the shadow of a monument everyone steps on. While this was not so, he felt as if it was a fact. Now he stood there: arms crossed, lips twirled, brows pulled together. His eyes followed a recruit's movement. Jack joined him and he released a short snort.

Gabe side-eyed him before yelling something at the chap. A brown-haired, brown-eyed kid from the streets—more or less. He had picked him up like an abandoned puppy, left there at a gas station so that someone might find him. And he found him, lifted him up, gave him a bath and a speech. Now he was here exercising his backside off – with a look on his face which radiated annoyance.

"Maybe you shouldn't be so harsh." Jack mumbled.

"Maybe, maybe not. Look, if I give him a special treatment he'll just won't do what everyone expects from him." Gabriel replied in his casual tone. "I treat everyone the same."

"No, you don't and I wonder why?" Jack already had an answer. "I do know why."

"Which does not surprise me the slightest; you're an old dog on the inside."

He always would say that. That Jack was an old soul residing in a young body; that he knew way more than anyone here and not because he inhibited a developed social intelligence. It made him laugh. Everything they shared gave him the feeling as though they knew each other for a lifetime; there was no such thing as a misunderstanding between them. They could communicate non-verbally. A certain glance, a gesture. It felt so familiar that he knew what he meant and – as many would call Gabriel too hard, expecting too much from everyone, that he was too direct and demanding—often it made sense. He demanded so much from everyone because he wanted people to remain realistic, to be honest and to be good. In the end, he shaped people a certain way. Was it good or bad? That depended on the individual, because it was up to them to do whatever the training prepared them for.

It seemed to many that he was an old grump. Someone who didn't like to smile, or that he avoided bonds. He avoided almost everything that was too personal. Gabriel used certain terms to make sure people had no reason to like him. Jack saw right through this and used it to his advantage. _You appear intimidating, but not to me_ was one of the first things he said to him. Gabriel scoffed and shook his head. Truth was: he was only intimidating to keep people at bay. In reality, he was someone who cared about people in his own, stoic way. He was hard on people so that they won't be disappointed by anything or anyone. A realist's way of preparing the rookies, perhaps? Jack couldn't tell, because sometimes, he was an idealist. Bring forth the best of people, believe in the best of people. This might have been the reason why he spent so much time on puzzling through Reyes more than once. Why was he the way he was? And he found the reason between lines he spoke during a late night, accompanied by old music and even older whiskey.

That became what he associated him with: an old rock song and a brown liquor. Gabriel cared so much about the younger generations, he forgot that he did. When people saw this, he would grunt and tell them to annoy someone else, because he wasn't here to replace a parent. Yet he did such a thing, and people were set off by his attitude, and at the same time learned to love it. Little puppies bounced around his feet and he bit his lips to not show amusement.

His smile was his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, rolling up and down the wall. Jack slapped his arm with the back of his hand and give him a look. Gabriel would cough and rub the side of his head with one of his fingers. Sometimes, that finger was his middle finger.

One of those days, it was someone's birthday, he cooked a meal for them. It was such a grotesque picture: him wearing an apron and cooking in the staff canteen. He fell back into Spanish and cursed the onions to everyone's entertainment. He told one of the recruits: _You're not going to cut anything in here, because you're too clumsy for that and end up with a huge wound we'll have to fix._ He sent her to the table and continued. The chefs judged him in silence but did not intervene. _You're the reason why I'm crying, not the onions. You're driving me nuts._

That was his way of showing that he cared, and it took a lot of knowledge to understand it. He never joined anything else; he was there, but he wasn't. As if he held many grudges. As if he meant to make sure that, keeping people as far away from him as possible, there was nothing to be taken advantage of. Bonds were, as he said, a weakness. Not the bond itself, but the fact that people were aware of something they get could get at him with. Something they could use against him, to make sure he acted the way they wanted.

The grudges he held wasn't something Jack had ever expected. Burdens from a life lived long ago; a long-lost time, buried beneath new, more uplifting memories. Like diary entries you want to hide from the public; secrets you don't want to reveal to anyone.

One of the grudges he held, so did Jack learn, was that the organization they worked for seemed to turn a blind eye on anything related to Los Muertos. Something of utter importance to Gabriel for whatever reason he was hiding. Seeing people, which he used to care for, vanish into thin air. And this was the aforementioned weakness. He was irritated by the lack of interested in something that meant a lot to him. There were many things he found important and no-one would ever notice. People would think that Gabriel and Jesse frustrated each other, and thus that they did not get along. However, this wasn't the truth. One of these days, he pulled Jesse out of the crowd, secluding him in a niche, and told him to not allow anyone to reduce him to that one aspect of him. He knew better than anyone else. That was a fight only the two of them had fought. From the day that his arm was replaced to the times he wandered aimlessly at night, he found company in his tough instructor.

And yes, he cared. Maybe too much, maybe not enough. There were few people he wanted to make sure they were not lost in the maelstrom of madness in this world.

The young doctor from Switzerland, who arrived with a motive and will to change the world into something worth saving. It probably was her zest, that fire in a young heart to make things right. She would come and join, and fix and get fixed. It was personal desire to bandage her bruised hand, as though he was a father who didn't want any damn stranger to take care of his daughter's wounded knee. He'd place a band aid on the spot, pet it once, and tell her that a real warrior isn't familiar with pain. And if the pain remains, he'd say that it'll pass. Wounds heal. Grow strong and show them your scars.

"Do what you must," he told her. "jump into a fucking volcano if you have to and for whatever damn reason you scientists come up with. I'll wait and pull you back out. As long as you're not going to become one of those arrogant creeps." She laughed at it, but there was a sentiment which could be translated into: I have your back.

He was more than picky. Not only about the things he did in his spare time, but about people, too. Jack did not know whether to be delighted or annoyed by the fact that he had soon become one of those people. One of the few individuals he'd care about, joke with, told stories. Gabriel was somewhat older than him, just enough to make sure he could pester him with the attitude of a big brother.

"I'm older. I know better."

These were just a handful of years. For the most part, they were equal. They've had so much in common, and yet drifted way apart when it came to certain topics. _We need laws and restrictions, otherwise there will be chaos. Justice is necessary._ Jack heard himself repeat that on a weekly basis. Gabriel raised his brows and would add an annoyed _not always. Sometimes, you've got to turn away from a rule and do what is necessary._

Times change, people change. The closer they grew, the tighter their bond, the more insecurities and questions gathered inside Jack's. Moments together became secret-sharing and exchanges of ideas or opinions. Shoulder-on-shoulder they stood and watched sceneries as if they watched a movie. Seasons lived through together. People came and went; and they would experience this together as though they were the leaders of a family. Ready to unleash the youth and let them run this world instead of them. There was pride and there was appreciation; and then there came winter. Ice-cold storms and snow which covered a lovely, warm October gone before it should have ended. Sun was blue and icy, layers of a lake frozen. Everything that once was important disappeared beneath a thick blanket of frost. When you think the world is fine, and that you demand the world to stand still for this very moment in time, the world's pace increases rapidly. It spins and puts you down; you land on your back and stare at it from a different angle. What made it change? A word in the wrong context? A gesture lost in translation?

There you sit and you start to hate this song and you don't drink anymore. A day after the more or less official response, which announced an internal rebellion against almost anything they stood for, Jack stood at his desk and stared at the empty cup of coffee. Documents spread around it, as water around an island. He swept the items off the tabletop in one heated move. The sound of a broken heart was the same as ceramic shattered on the floor, into a thousand pieces that you couldn't reassemble.

Suddenly, time stood still again. Time turned into an empty vacuum while laughter persisted. Life became the inside of a snow globe which he held in his hands.

"You start to hate this song, and you don't drink anymore. You just sit here at your desk and stare at the coffee in front of you, cursing the empty space on the other side. Regrets cover your work; guilt gives you a headache. I can't recall the many times that I stood there, screaming and cursing everyone I knew. Not everyone, just this one, particular person who left this stain on my life. Some sort of friendship; was it a friendship? What happened that you've had to take everything and throw it away like that? Was it something I have done or said, that rubbed you the wrong way? Was it personal? You said it wasn't.

I waste hours thinking about this, I stare at the walls as if they've got an answer for me. You ruined an organization that was supposed to own people's trust. You are here, somewhere, seeking your revenge as if that would turn back time. But what am I saying: I'm nothing better than you, aren't I? At least I am not hunting my own family… am I? No, there is no feeling left for you in here except for this hateful resentment. Screaming at the walls for declining answers, punching holes in them—it doesn't compare to the things I want to yell into your face, but I am just an old man with a grudge. Just like you, but at least I know that I am not a hero.

I am not hero, even though people want me to think that. Maybe I want to save the world again. Maybe I want to rebuilt everything upon this trail of destruction you've left on this world, just to show you that you're not the winner in this foolish game. A game you thought to be necessary playing after I stepped on your toes. Should I feel defeated by you? Is that what you want? I wonder why Angela wasted all her time and skill trying to save your sorry ass for you to raise this kind of havoc among us. Are you happy now?

On the streets, I see kids with bleak faces. I know it is your doing, with your fury that brings everything to the ground. You said that you never wanted people to be scared of you, you've hated baseless fits and you disliked disrespectful behavior. Where are you now? You have become the monster they wanted you be. You've become the relentless, unfriendly tool they said you were. While you weren't back in those days, I wish that I would have known what was going to happen. I could have spared my energy in whatever we had that seemed so special. It was you who built me up and supported me, just to throw a tantrum when I became what you wanted me to be. Was it unfair? For years, I ran around wondering if it was my fault. I dissected old documents and revisited events just to overflow with more guilt.

One day, I'll be done tracing your tracks, cleaning up the mess you've made, and the people you've destroyed. One day, I'm going to be in whatever fortress of solitude you're hiding, and I'll make an end to this terror."


End file.
